On The Outside Looking In
by Anna Raffaella
Summary: Mello's thoughts on Wammy's House and the ranking system and the whole successor issue.


**SUMMARY:** Mello's thoughts on Wammy's House and the ranking system and the whole successor issue.

**DISCLAIMER:** Come on, we all know who owns Death Note. And we all worship them. Do you see me being worshipped? Thought so.

**RATING:** T (for some swearing)

**WARNINGS:** NAME SPOILERS

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**AN -** For a change, the AN's on the beginning. Because I owe everyone an explanation. I didn't suddenly wake up and thought "Oh, what would Mello's thoughts be on...?". No, thats isn't what happened. Just so you know, I wrote this from my POV. I am a so-called genius myself. Being followed by psychologists since I'm five because I scored a goddamn "Very Superior" on some random IQ test. I started school with FIVE years old. Not six, like everyone else. We can say I am somewhat "antecipated". And I hate the technical part of it. I receive intelligence tests in my mailbox every one in a while. I have to fill them in and send them back. They're on me. Checking my grades, my behaviour. If I fail, they fail. The whole "antecipation machine" fails. I hate the fact that I don't know how much I score in every test. I hate the fact that there's so few of us in this country, and I hate the fact that I'd like to meet them and I can't. And I hate the fact that I have to deal with people who just don't get me... on a daily basis. I hate the fact that people ask so much from me, LIKE I'M NOT EVEN A WHOLE YEAR AHEAD. I hate the fact that I meet other so-called intelligent people who PWN me in exams because they work their asses off and are EIGHTEEN, while I read my notes once and am SIXTEEN. I hate the fact that I don't know everything's that's ever happened in the history of the universe. But what I REALLY REALLY HATE is the fact that I don't try hard enough to fix any of these things I hate. Because I simply don't care that much. This will make a whole lot more sense after you've read the story. Go ahead, I won't bug you again. :)

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**On The Outside Looking In**

Mello bit his pen lightly, staring at the last question of the exam.

He couldn't focus. The sun was peering through the blinds, hurting his eyes, making him uncomfortably hot.

He didn't like the heat. It made him sleepy. And sleep is something you can't afford to have if you're on the run to be number one.

The blonde boy dropped the pen, and looked around, noticing that his white-haired so-called mate had already finished. He was sitting in his trademark way, chin resting on his knee, index finger twirling a strand of hair. Looking too small, too innocent... too Near.

Mello rolled his eyes at his own train of thought.

Well, of course he looked like Near. He was Near, after all.

Another look at the classroom. A few feet away from him, a boy in stripes was nearly lying on his chair. Shoulders leveled with the table. Maybe "sinking on his chair" was a better way to put it in words. His exam rested in front of him, also finished, looking more like a piece of artwork than a serious document.

Mello exhaled sharply, and focused on his own exam. On his own situation. What would it look like... if he was on the 

outside looking in? If he was Linda, for example? What would _he_ look like?

He wasn't a white-haired genius. Not even a red-haired walking contradiction, for that matter.

He didn't have his own proper way of sitting. He didn't play videogames twenty-four-seven. He didn't have an unnatural hair color. He didn't wear ridiculous goggles. He didn't behave like he was afraid to move an inch and break a bone. He didn't sit like he was deliberately _trying_ to break a bone either.

He wasn't special. Not like they were.

He stood somewhere between them. Somewhere between one and three.

Two.

He hated being number two. Two out of three meant one of two things... second best or second worst.

Always second. He wasn't fair that he was always second.

Not when he tried so hard.

Near didn't seem to ever put any effort in anything. Things came out naturally for him. Even when he was distracted making finger puppets with pieces of paper and some origami 

knowledge... even then, if he was asked a question, he would answer it right.

Matt followed the exact same pattern. Mello wasn't sure if the teachers knew he kept playing his PSP under the table. Or hiding comics in his text books. But words never failed him when he was asked a question.

Not like they failed Mello. There was panic every time he felt he didn't have the right answer. The perfect answer, with all the complicated words and correct punctuation, the answer only a number one would be able to give.

Near didn't have to think about the full stops and the commas. They were just there. They flowed with his words. And it felt terrible.

Matt, on the other hand, didn't know the definition of "perfect answer". For the redhead, "anything goes". As long as he spoke. He was good with words. The kind of person who knew how to use them to manipulate and smother and provoke. All at once, if necessary. The kind of person who would glare at twenty armed men and say "You won't shoot!" just to see their reaction.

Even if he did die, at least he would die in style.

Mello wasn't like that. He couldn't risk his status, his rank, "just for kicks". He had a position to defend.

Wait, to defend from who?

From Matt?

He didn't want it anyway.

If Mello failed an exam, a class, anything, Matt would fail right after him. Not for solidarity. Simply because he didn't want to be number two.

Mello felt somewhat... stuck.

Fighting Near was impossible. A lost battle. He was better, his IQ was higher, he was calmer, he was more perfect, he was sweeter, he was more polite, he was...

Mello caught a hold of himself seconds before slamming his fist in the table. He hated them, both of them.

Near, for not letting him win. Matt, for not trying to surpass him.

If only he tried... just once, if he worked harder... if he worked _at all_, Mello would feel like he wasn't the only one. The only one whose life depended on an A+.

Why weren't they trying?

Why did he feel like Near would back off if he asked him to? Why did he feel like he was the only one working, the only being tested, the only one being lied to?

It was all lies. Everything was a lie at Wammy's. L was a computer screen. Kira was a title on the news. Mihael was Mello. Nate was Near. Mail was Matt.

And later... later, if one of them succeeded L... they wouldn't even be Mello, Near or Matt anymore. They would be M or N or M.

Numbers and letters. That was all they were. Numbers and letters.

People? No, they weren't people. Why would anyone think they were people, after all?

They had been born genius. Born to be the next Voltaires, Einsteins, and Ls. Those weren't people. Einsten didn't even know how to fasten his shoelaces.

The Wammy's didn't know how to socialize. Matt's talking could be divided into two categories: "Classroom Talk" and "Just Room Talk". The first involved teachers and escaping detentions, the second included Mario and green turtles. No real people.

Near, on his own accord, never spoke if he wasn't pushed. And usually his answers left everyone speechless, so he wasn't exactly a pro at making conversation.

Mello wanted to speak, sometimes. Wanted to speak about the time and what was on TV and politics and cartoons. No one would hear him.

The three of them, they would end up locked in their own rooms, in their own worlds, Matt with his video games, Near with his Legos, Mello with his books.

Because at the end of the day, he still tried.

He just wanted them... someone to understand why he did it.

But they didn't.

They didn't understand.

They didn't even try.


End file.
